


the snow was more lonely than cold

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Break Up, Depression, Future Fic, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non-Chronological, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 16:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: It's 2035, Auston is retiring, and he's got some things he wants to get off his chest. They pretty much start and end with making things right with Mitch, whose heart he broke more than fifteen years ago.





	the snow was more lonely than cold

**Author's Note:**

> i have been wanting to write this breakup story for... ages. literal ages. what better way to do it than this, i guess? this is told in two different timelines, with both stories being wound together. pretend, for the sake of this narrative and my sanity, that william nylander is safely locked into a contract extension.
> 
> thanks to everyone who read this over for me, but especially ari, who beta read the whole thing not once but twice. <3 <3 <3
> 
> INCREDIBLE thanks to woods_gossip, who created the amazing art you see in this story. it adds a depth to the reading experience that is honestly more than i could ever have dreamed possible. please leave them all the rave reviews!
> 
>  **a small additional warning:** a character throws up near the start of this story. it only happens once, but it is on screen and it is described.
> 
> title is from savage garden's "[i don't know you anymore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5KhbW6mLHoQ)." there is also a line in here i cribbed directly from that song. sorry in advance.

It starts with Mitch being too loud, too bright, too _much_ for Auston to ignore. It's Mitch laughing in every corner of Auston's space, his smile colouring everything Auston sees, his fingers brushing a little too casually against the back of Auston's hand when they're walking a little too close to each other in the underbelly of the ACC. It's Auston feeling his heart in his throat when he catches Mitch's hand six months in, squeezes it quickly, and then keeps walking; it's feeling lighter than air when Mitch turns to him in the car after the game that night, leans in, and kisses him sweetly.

It's a year and a half of hiding the best, happiest, easiest relationship of his life, because Auston is a lot of things, but he's not ready to let anyone know about him. He finds a way to balance the way Mitch makes him smile against the curl of fear in his stomach whenever a teammate looks at them a little too long; the way Mitch's face falls when Auston inches away in public against the way he breathes a little easier for not drawing suspicion; the way Mitch says "I love you" easily and doesn't mind when Auston takes months to say it back, halting, stumbling against the things he hears other players mutter, teammates and opponents alike, about anyone who might be anything other than 100% straight.

It's a lot to balance, and yeah, Auston's a lot of things, but it turns out that good at holding his balance when he's not in skates isn't one of them.

-0-

_March 30, 2018_

It ends like this:

Auston's careful, always careful, but sometimes he doesn't think before he acts. It's the tail end of their second year together, a meaningless game against the Islanders a week before the end of the season, their playoff berth secured no matter what happens. Nobody thinks anything of Mitch and Auston hanging out together; they're close, that's not a secret, and they're road roommates, and there are jokes about them being codependent that don't even border on the edges of Auston's internal panic. Nobody's going out, not this close to the playoffs; nobody wants to risk anything, so they all retreat to their rooms for quiet nights in. Auston's sure that nobody else's night in involves curling up with their secret boyfriend on one of the beds and making out instead of watching a movie, but hey, everyone has their own ways of letting off steam.

Mitch dozes off halfway through _Ocean's Twelve_ but Auston's not tired, so he shoots a quick text off to Willy. He carefully slides out from beneath Mitch when Willy texts back, and a couple of minutes later, he's walking barefoot down the hallway so they can go over some set play ideas before presenting them to Babs.

"Hey, man," Willy says when Auston rounds the corner. "Hyms said he'd rather—holy shit, is that a hickey?"

Auston feels time slow down around him. He doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything as cliche as slapping a hand to his neck, but he can feel his pulse throbbing in the mark that must be a little higher than the stretched-out collar of his pajama shirt covers. "Willy," he manages.

"I didn't think you were going out tonight," Willy says, sounding something close to delighted. "Mitchy said you guys were gonna stay in and watch a movie."

Auston nods jerkily, doesn't think to say that his plans had changed until it's already too late, until Willy's eyes are going almost cartoonishly round as the pieces click.

"Holy _shit_ ," he says again, except this time he sounds way less amused, way more stunned. "You and Marns? You're…"

"Don't," Auston says, and he means for it to be firm, commanding, but it cracks in the middle and makes him sound probably almost as terrified as he actually is. His heart is pounding and he feels like he's going to pass out right there in the hallway, so he digs his fingernails into his palms as hard as he can and concentrates on the half-moons of pain so he can focus. "Don't say it. Don't say anything."

"Okay," Willy says, eyes still way too wide. He nods twice, up-down-up-down, and then he looks around. "That's… wow, man. Good for you guys."

"Don't," Auston says again, and he can feel the panic rising, feel it clawing at his throat. The room is closing in, maybe, or maybe he's wobbling on his feet and it's fucking with his perception. He needs to get out of here, definitely.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" Willy asks, taking a step forward.

Auston stumbles back a step and throws his hand out in front of him. He ignores the flash of hurt on Willy's face, ignores the sick churning in his own stomach, and steps back again. He can feel his face twisting, contorting, and he clenches his fists even harder, but his fingernails aren't long enough to make digging them into his palms hurt enough to distract him.

"Auston," Willy says, but he doesn't move forward again.

"I have to go," Auston says, and that's when he turns around and runs back down the hall.

He flings the door to his hotel room open and beelines for the bathroom. He knows he's panicking, but knowing it and being able to control it are two different things. He has no idea if he's actually going to be sick or not, but there's no way being in the bathroom is a bad idea, not right now. The door slams behind him as he drops to the floor, leaning most of his weight against the bathtub.

He's probably only been in the bathroom for fifteen seconds or so before Mitch hurries in, sheet crease pressed into his cheek, sliding to the floor next to Auston. "Babe? What happened, what's wrong?"

Auston looks up into his face, the honest, raw concern there, and then he turns towards the toilet and retches.

Mitch rubs slowly at his back until he sits up, then hands him a wadded-up bunch of toilet paper so he can wipe his face. By the time Auston's dropping it into the toilet, Mitch is handing him a glass of water. "Rinse," he says softly. "You think you're gonna go again, or should I get your toothbrush?"

Auston closes his eyes. "Toothbrush," he says. "Please."

Mitch touches him softly on the shoulder a few seconds later, and Auston opens his eyes and takes his toothbrush from Mitch's hands. He doesn't get up, just stays right there on the floor and brushes his teeth mechanically, spitting into the toilet before handing his toothbrush back to Mitch and slowly standing. It's disgusting, but he watches as he flushes the toilet, the churning mess swirling in the bowl before it disappears.

"Hey," Mitch says quietly, touching Auston's elbow. "You want to sleep it off? We don't have to talk about it tonight if you're—"

"We," Auston cuts in. He can't look up, can't look at Mitch, can't do anything about the way he feels like he's going to cry, shake apart at the seams, fall to his knees and get sick again. "We're done. You and me. I'm—I can't anymore."

Mitch's hand drops, and Auston can feel him recoil. "What?"

"I'm breaking up with you," Auston forces himself to say. "I'll—just give me a second to grab my shit. I'll go crash with someone." Not Willy, not Zach, not—Patty, he thinks desperately. Patty will let him sleep in the other bed in his room, and he'll ask questions but he won't push.

"No, what?" Mitch asks, and Auston can't identify the tone in his voice at all. "What the hell happened, Auston? We were watching a movie, we were fine, and then I wake up and suddenly you're dumping me?" His voice cracks at the end, and Auston finally looks at him. His face is more shocked than anything else, but there's something hurt in his eyes.

Auston looks away. "I'll get my stuff."

"No, don't bother," Mitch says. "I'm going to Patty's room. You stay here. And Auston?"

He waits for Auston to look at him again.

"We're talking about this in the morning when you've slept off whatever this is," he says, and then he turns and walks out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Auston stays in there until he hears the hotel room door slam shut again.

-0-

_June 18, 2035_

The house is nice, Auston thinks. It's big without being the kind of ridiculous that professional athletes often end up living in, on a quiet street in a Toronto suburb with lots of trees. There's a privacy fence around the yard, and Auston can hear a dog barking behind it.

It's not like it's actually now or never, but it pretty much feels like it, so Auston takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, makes his way up to the door, and rings the bell.

There's immediately a bunch of commotion from inside. Auston doesn't jump when a preschooler's face appears in the window next to the door, squashed up against the glass, but it's a near thing. The kid disappears before Auston can get a good look at them, but before he can do anything he shouldn't, the front door opens.

"Yeah, no," Dylan Strome decides after a moment of silent staring, taking a step back into the house. He's got his hand down, palm spread, and Auston's pretty sure it's actually to keep the kid from running out onto the porch, but he wonders for a split second if Strome is going to smack him. Auston knows he damn well deserves at least that, but Strome keeps his hand down and turns. "Mitch! This one's yours!"

"I'm a little busy," Auston hears, and he could count almost exactly how long it's been since he's heard Mitch's voice in person, but he's not doing that to himself anymore. "Can you handle it?"

"You definitely don't want me to handle it," Strome yells back, and Auston wasn't expecting to agree with much Dylan Strome said or did today, but so far he's two for two. Maybe Auston hasn't been giving him enough credit for the past, like, fifteen years.

"Gimme a sec," Mitch replies, and Strome turns back to Auston.

"Come in," he says, voice giving pretty much nothing away. "Also, if he tells you to get out, you leave, no questions. You get me?"

"I'm not here to fight," Auston says. "I… yeah. If he wants me gone, I'm gone."

Strome nods and steps back, leaving space for Auston to follow him in. "Kitchen's this way."

Auston steps inside and does his best not to get assaulted by half-imagined memories of the house he'd sort of thought he and Mitch might have one day. There's hockey stuff everywhere, but it's all the wrong colours, red and white and green instead of the blue he'd had in mind. There's also kids' stuff everywhere, toys and blankets and photos on every surface, and it's kind of a lot to process as he follows Strome down the hallway into the kitchen.

The preschooler from before is kneeling on a chair at a dining room table that's half-covered in colouring books and crayons. He's got a book open in front of him, and he's very focused on staying in the lines, Auston thinks, but then he pointedly drags the purple crayon straight across the page.

Auston has never really understood kids.

He looks up after a moment, directly at Auston. "I'm Bryson Paul Marner-Strome," he says. "Who're you?"

Auston glances at Strome, but he's standing with his arms crossed, leaning against the refrigerator, face impassive. He gives Auston a tiny nod, which isn't actually helpful, so Auston looks back to Bryson. "I'm Auston Matthews," he says. "I'm, uh. I'm a work friend of your dad's."

Bryson narrows his eyes. "No you're not."

"Bryce," Strome says, and he's probably trying to sound stern, but Auston's pretty sure he's actually amused. "That wasn't nice."

"But I know all of your work friends," Bryson—Bryce?—says, twisting in the chair to face Strome. "And all of Papa's, too."

"Uh," Auston hears, and he whirls around to find Mitch standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the world's tiniest baby propped up against his chest, his eyes incredibly wide. "Matts? What are you… I didn't know you were in town."

Strome walks over, drops a kiss to the top of Mitch's head, and deftly takes the baby from him without any screaming. Auston's pretty sure it's a girl, if the clothing and his faint memory are any indication, but it's honestly too small a kid for him to feel comfortable in that guess.

"I'll take the kids to the park," Strome says without looking back at Auston. "Give me five to pack a go bag and we'll be out of your hair, okay?"

"Okay," Mitch says, sounding a little dazed. "She's kinda cranky, so if the park doesn't work, let me know and we'll…"

"We'll figure it out," Strome says, soft but firm. "Coffee's in the pot. Make sure Bryce doesn't draw on the table while I go upstairs."

"Yeah," Mitch says, looking at the table. He hasn't looked at Auston once since acknowledging that he's here. "You colouring, buddy?"

"I went outside the lines," Bryce says, pointing at the purple streak. "Papa, who's that?"

Mitch takes a deep breath. "Remember how Daddy and Papa didn't always play on the same teams?"

"Before I was borned," Bryce says.

"Born," Mitch corrects. "The very, very first team that I played for, I played with… with Mr. Matthews."

Auston doesn't let himself make a sound at that, at the clear, firm distance that Mitch is putting between him and his kid, but he can't help the flinch. He's sure Mitch sees it out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't react, and this—maybe this was a bad idea.

-0-

_March 31, 2018_

"So," Mitch says. They're back in Toronto; Mitch had stayed with Patty, and he'd given Auston his space on the bus and the plane, and Zach had quietly offered him a ride home when they touched down. Auston sort of wondered if Mitch was just going to take everything at face value, if he'd just accept it and go on with his life, but he really did know better. Mitch has never once in his life taken anything laying down, and he sure as hell wouldn't start now.

"So," Auston echoes. They're in his apartment, because Auston knows he can't break up with Mitch in Mitch's space, and the thought of being anywhere remotely public brings back the nausea. "I don't know what you want me to say here, Marns. I said it last night."

Mitch raises an eyebrow. "And you think, what? That I'm just going to be fine with you apparently having a panic attack and deciding to dump me while I took a half-hour nap?"

"I meant it," Auston says quietly. "It's—I really can't anymore. I just… I can't."

"What the hell?" Mitch asks, and it's not like it was last night, too shocked to be anything else. It's hurt, and it's angry, and it's something that Auston can respond to, at least. "What the fuck happened?"

"I ran into Willy in the hallway after you fell asleep," Auston says. His stomach swoops unpleasantly, but he swallows hard and meets Mitch's eyes. At the very least, he owes Mitch an explanation. "He. He figured it out."

Mitch's eyes go wide. "How the hell—"

Auston wordlessly yanks his shirt collar to the side, and Mitch's eyes catch on the bruise on his collarbone. It's not that they don't leave marks on each other; it's that they're careful to have plausible denitalibilty about it, careful to make sure at least one of them is seen with a girl in a bar before they ditch and go back to their hotel room.

Mitch, to his credit, gets it instantly. "Everybody knew we were staying in last night."

"Yeah," Auston says.

"And Willy," Mitch says, swallowing thickly. "He was—he was a dick about it?"

"No," Auston says. He's been playing it over in his head on repeat, pretty much. "He was totally surprised, but not, like, bad about it. I don't think he's gonna say anything."

Mitch frowns. "Then I don't get it. Why—"

"Because someone else is going to find out, and they might not be cool with it," Auston says. "Someone's going to put the pieces together, or we're gonna slip up, or someone will walk in on something, and—"

"And _what_?" Mitch asks. "They out us? Yeah, that would suck, like, a lot. It would, but I don't get—"

"I can't get outed," Auston says, and the panic isn't listening to him, isn't staying shoved down. He hears it in the edges of his voice, a little wild, a little loud. "I _can't_."

"So you're planning on staying in the closet for the rest of your life," Mitch says. "Literally forever. You're never coming out."

"I told you that when we started this," Auston says. He doesn't expect Mitch to understand, not really, but he does remember making that as clear as possible at the beginning.

"I thought you meant, like, for your career," Mitch says. He takes a step back, looking at Auston with an expression Auston's never seen before. It's something like pity, Auston realises with a jolt. "You're seriously that afraid of someone knowing?"

"Look," Auston says. He's exhausted, he's scared, he's trying to hold onto the last fraying edges of calm that he can find. "It was great. We had a good time, okay? But the risk is—it's not worth it to me."

"Not worth it," Mitch echoes, recoiling like he's been checked hard. "It's—a year and a half, and all of a sudden I'm not _worth_ it anymore, because one person found out that you're not one hundred percent straight? Jesus christ, Auston, you realise that's fucked up, right?"

Auston shrugs a little helplessly.

"I am in love with you," Mitch says, and Auston never thought that could sound like an accusation, but Mitch is hurling it at him like one. "A year and a half. I played by all of your rules. I didn't tell anyone, I didn't tell my best friends, I didn't tell my _family_ , and for what? I fall in love with you, and then you leave the second it gets too scary?"

Auston closes his eyes, because the reality of what he's doing is setting in, and he can feel the tears start to sting. "Yeah," he whispers. "That's pretty much it."

"Wow," Mitch says after a moment, quiet. "Fuck you, you know that? Fuck you."

Auston doesn't open his eyes until after he hears the door slam.

-0-

_June 18, 2035_

"Your kids seem great," Auston says awkwardly. He's got a mug of coffee in front of him, and they're sitting at the kitchen table, Bryce's colouring books pushed aside.

"They are," Mitch says. He smiles, and it's the first real expression Auston's seen on him since he walked in. "Bryce is three and a half, and Cailey's almost two and a half months. And, uh. You didn't meet Christina, because she's at her first ever summer sleepover camp, so she won't be around until Saturday."

Auston had known, kind of distantly, that Mitch had kids, plural; he remembers hearing that the newest baby had been born, too soon and too small, but she'd seemed healthy enough earlier. It's still a shock to look at Mitch, who's Auston's age, and realise that he's been married for over a decade and has three children.

"Sleepover camp," Auston says. "Don't you have to be older for that?"

Mitch raises an eyebrow. "She's eight."

"Eight," Auston echoes, a little dumbfounded. "Wow."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Mitch says, grinning faintly. "Time flies, or whatever."

"Yeah," Auston agrees, and then they descend into what is very definitely an awkward silence.

Auston has stuff to say, is the thing. He wouldn't be here if he didn't; he wouldn't have shown up unannounced on Mitch's doorstep if he didn't have some topics he needed to talk about. It's just that now that he's here, now that Mitch is in front of him and neither one of them is yelling or lashing out or crying, he sort of wants to sit with it for a little while. It's been a really, really long time since he and Mitch could do this.

"So," Mitch says, breaking the silence. "It's been a while."

Auston lets out a breath. "A day or two, yeah."

Mitch rolls his eyes. "Don't take this the wrong way, but why are you here?"

"I…" Auston starts. He stares down into his coffee for a minute, but he's long past the point in his life where he truly thought that enough coffee could give him the strength to do anything. "Someone had to be the first to break, right? And I'm the one who fucked up, so…"

"The first to break," Mitch repeats. "That's a hell of a way to put it."

Auston shrugs a little. "I haven't gotten that much better at using my words."

"I'm not actually surprised by that," Mitch says, and there's a trace of the old bitterness in there, but Auston really can't blame him for that. "So you just figured enough time had passed and that we should be friends again? Because I hate to break it to you, but it doesn't really work that way."

There are a bunch of things Auston wants to say here; some of it's even what he should say. Instead, when he opens his mouth, he hears himself say, "I want to come out."

He doesn't blame Mitch at all for the expression that blooms across his face.

-0-

_April 5, 2018_

Breaking up sucks.

Like, Auston knew it was going to suck. He and Mitch had entangled their lives in a way that's hard to undo, especially when there's no way he can explain to their teammates that he's going through a breakup, no way to find someone to vent to. It's just that it's way, way worse than he even imagined it would be, because it's not that he doesn't love Mitch, and watching Mitch walk around with his head held high while he's so obviously hurting is kind of killing Auston, and it's even worse because he knows he's solely responsible.

Willy's the one who corners Auston about it, and honestly, Auston is shocked that it takes him six entire days. "Dude," he says, sitting on the bed that should be Mitch's but isn't, because Mitch had asked if Willy would switch rooms for their last road trip of the season. "What the fuck happened?"

Auston wonders for a second if Mitch had asked Willy on purpose, knowing that Willy's the only one who knows; he's pretty sure the answer is yes, though, and Auston's not about to blame him. "I broke up with him," he says dully. There's no reason to beat around the bush. "The end of last week, after we got home."

"Uh," Willy says. "You mean after I saw the giant hickey he gave you and you freaked out? Right after that?"

Auston shrugs. "I mean, yeah."

"Why?" Willy asks patiently. "I haven't told anyone. I _wouldn't_ tell anyone. I get wanting your privacy, Auston."

"It's," Auston says, swallowing hard. "It's not about you knowing, not really."

"Okay," Willy says, dragging it out. "Except it is, very really."

"Did he tell you?" Auston asks, shifting on his bed.

Willy shakes his head. "He just asked if I'd switch rooms so he could get a change of scenery, and he's looked so fucking awful this entire week that I said yes without even asking him what was wrong."

Auston flinches, can't help it. "I... he. It hasn't been... easy, I guess."

"Yeah, no shit," Willy says. "So if he looks like shit and you look even worse, then why the hell was breaking up the thing to do?"

This time Auston shrugs a little. "Because other people would find out eventually."

"And that's... a bad thing," Willy says slowly, like he doesn't understand.

"Please don't play dumb," Auston says. He's not pleading, not really, but he's not above doing it if he has to. "You know that's a bad thing. You _know_."

"So you were just gonna, what, date in secret forever?" Willy asks, brows furrowing. "Get secret married, have a secret house together with secret kids and a secret—"

"I know it's stupid," Auston says, cutting him off. "I know. I know, okay? You don't have to point it out to me."

"Kinda feels like I do," Willy observes. "Since, y'know, it feels like one person finding out brought down the whole house of cards or whatever."

"Look," Auston says. He hates feeling defensive, hates feeling like his only response is to lash out. "You don't get it, okay? And, like, that's totally fine, I'm not asking you to, but you don't get to sit here and tell me that the closet isn't better when you have no—"

"I'm bisexual," Willy cuts in calmly. "So if you maybe want to stop and rewind a little bit there about how I don't get what being in the closet is like, maybe go ahead and do that. I can wait."

"You're," Auston says. He can't get the rest of the words out. "What? No."

Willy rolls his eyes. "I'm not giving you a list of guys whose dicks I've sucked as proof," he says, and Auston flinches at it, at the thought of someone asking him to prove he's gay like that, of someone asking _Mitch_ and Auston having the gut-churning half-second thought that he might get outed. "But I've had girlfriends and I've had boyfriends before, Auston. I'm not straight."

"I had no idea," Auston says faintly.

"Yeah, well," Willy says, shrugging. "I get not spreading it around, but like, your secret is the safest it could possibly be with me."

Auston shakes his head. "It's not just you," he says again. "You know what guys say. You've heard it from some of the guys in our room, even."

"So we have another sensitivity seminar," Willy says. "We talk to management about making it a legit issue. We make it less awful."

"That's not," Auston says. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, holding it for as long as he can before he lets it all out. "I can't. I can't, Willy. I can't be the one to speak up about this. What if someone finds out it was me?"

Willy's quiet for a long time, and Auston keeps his eyes closed. He doesn't want to see the anger on Willy's face, or the hurt. He gets that he's in a unique position; god, does he know about it, how many little kids look up to him, how many of them have his jersey. He knows that he could be some sort of, like, big gay role model or whatever, but he just—he can't put himself out there like that.

When he finally opens his eyes, though, Willy's not mad or upset or anything like that. It takes Auston longer than he'd like to admit for him to realise that the expression on Willy's face is pity.

-0-

_June 18, 2035_

"So," Mitch says. They're in the backyard; the dog's name is Fetch, and Auston's watching Mitch toss a ball for him to bring back. "You want to come out."

He doesn't ask why, doesn't say "finally" or anything like that. Auston isn't sure if he means it to be a reprimand, a question, or a little bit of both, but he can absolutely tell it's meant to be answered, and he can do that. "Yeah," he says. "I've been thinking about it. Kind of a lot."

"Okay," Mitch says. "Congratulations, I guess?"

Auston hesitates. "I wanted to give you a heads up," he says after a moment.

Mitch doesn't look back at him, just bends over to take the ball away from Fetch. "Because they're going to ask you about me. Or me about you, probably. Again."

"Yeah," Auston says, shrugging a little. "And, like. If I owed anyone an explanation—"

"No, nope, stop," Mitch says, finally turning to look at him. "You were a kid. We both were. You were scared, and yeah, it sucked, but you don't owe me anything."

"It wasn't because," Auston says, then stops. He shakes his head a little. "I really cared about you, y'know?"

"I know, Auston," Mitch says. He's smiling a little, but it's the hurt kind, an old, tired kind of smile. "I never thought you didn't. I just thought it would be enough, you know? And it wasn't, and I couldn't handle it."

"It should have been," Auston says. "Like. I know that."

Mitch shakes his head. "It sucked," he repeats. "But life went on, okay? Life just... kept happening, and after a little while, I got with the program." He pauses. "And, I mean. It seemed like you did, too."

Auston laughs, and he knows it comes out bitter. "I mean, not so much. Faked it really well, though."

Mitch frowns. "You dated all over the place. The photos were everywhere. It was like you had a new girlfriend every—"

"I'm gay," Auston says. It's not the first time he's said it out loud; his therapist had told him to ease himself into it, but Auston's never been good at being kind to himself. He knows he tends to blurt it out like he's ripping off a band-aid, but it's the best way for him to not chicken out of it. "All the girlfriends, all the—some of them knew. Most of them didn't. I'm not... not proud of myself."

"Jesus, Auston," Mitch says, letting out a breath. "Thanks for telling me." He finally almost-smiles, just a bare hint of his lips twitching. "I promise not to tell anyone."

"I'm releasing a statement in a week and a half," Auston says. "So you won't have to keep it a secret for long."

Mitch shakes his head a little. "Go big or go home, right?"

He doesn't mean for it to be a gut punch; he can't know, really, not with how close Auston has played things to the vest and how far apart they've grown, but Auston still flinches. "My, uh." he says, looking at where Fetch has abandoned his namesake and is now very determinedly sniffing around a cluster of bushes. "My mother sends her love, and told me to let you know that she'd have taken your side way back when, if she'd known."

"Ouch," Mitch says, wincing in sympathy. "She was pretty mad, huh?"

"She still is," Auston says quietly. "I always sort of thought that me being gay would be the thing that upset my family, but it wasn't a big deal, like, at all." He huffs a laugh. "The big deal was about how me hiding it made me treat other people. My ex-girlfriends, at first, but then Brey connected the dots between how you and I weren't friends anymore and the timing of the trade and the news about you and Stromer."

"Oh," Mitch says, looking away. He laughs a little after a moment. "I missed her, you know? Like, I understood why it wasn't cool to keep talking to her after everything went down, but Brey was always cool. The little sister I didn't know I wanted. Your mom has always been amazing, too."

Auston swallows hard. "I'm sorry," he says. "If you wanted to reach back out—"

"Thanks, but I don't think that would be a good idea," Mitch cuts in. There's something gentle in his voice, and it doesn't make Auston bristle, but it almost makes him want to. "I know it's not news to you that I moved on, but I really, really have. I'm good here and now, and connecting with your family again would be... I don't know. Like a step back, maybe."

"They're great," Auston says defensively.

"Yeah, they are," Mitch agrees. "And they're yours, which means that they're my ex's family. That would be pretty weird for me."

Auston sighs. "I kind of didn't realise how badly I fucked things up for you," he admits. "For, like. Way, way too long."

Mitch shrugs. "I don't know that it would have helped me, if you knew," he says. "I mean, I did my best to hide it from you. For my own sake, and, like. We still had to play with each other."

Auston laughs, and even now, it sounds kind of hollow. "For a little while," he says. "And then, even after... everything that went down our third year? I still didn't get it, Mitch. It took almost a whole year past that and Hyms basically ripping me a new one for me to click."

"Zach's a good guy," Mitch says with a small smile. "For the record, I never told him about what happened between us."

"He just figured it out," Auston says. "He was always the smart one."

"He remains the smart one," Mitch says. "I'm still friends with him. Dylan and I take the kids over every couple of months and Zach bounces new book ideas off of them. Christina thinks it's super weird that her friends all freak out about her dorky Uncle Zach."

Auston laughs a little. "I bet he loves it," he says. He hesitates a moment, then adds, "He's the one who gave me your address."

Mitch startles a little. "Well," he says. "Did you tell him why?"

"I had to," Auston replies. "He... let's say that he wasn't thrilled when I turned up asking for it. I know neither one of us ever made anyone pick a side, but he picked yours without even thinking about it, I think."

It makes Mitch wince. "I never wanted that," he says. "I hoped that when I left, they'd all kind of forget about the whole thing and look back to you."

Auston stares a little. "Mitch," he says finally. "They all loved you. Like, they _loved_ you. Half of them wouldn't talk to me for the week after the trade. A few of them never talked to me outside of hockey again."

"No," Mitch says, eyes wide. "That's—what? That's fucked up, Auston. You were their _captain_."

"They loved you," Auston repeats. "And just because you never asked them to choose doesn't mean they didn't anyway."

"How did they even know?" Mitch asks. "It's not—we never said—"

Auston laughs a little and looks away. "You want to know the biggest irony in this whole thing? I broke up with you because I was terrified of people finding out, but when all the dust settled, me breaking up with you is what clued them all in."

"They all knew?" Mitc asks, clearly stunned.

"Most of them, yeah," Auston says. "I mean, only a couple of them ever asked me about it, but... yeah. They knew."

"Oh," Mitch says quietly. "That... explains some stuff, I guess."

Auston shrugs. "I guess it does."

-0-

_Mid-to-late 2018_

At least, Auston thinks kind of bitterly as he settles into his childhood bedroom, at least they lasted longer this year than they did last year. At least Mitch had looked like he was on fire out there, even if Auston had looked like his skates were filled with concrete. At least one of them is figuring out how to move on.

There are rumours swirling about a rift between Auston and Babs, and he almost welcomes them; at least the media hasn't latched onto the sudden un-best-friends-ness between him and Mitch. Babs questions he can handle, but Mitch questions would possibly break him at this point. It's a little awkward when Coach makes a point to visit him, to actually make the trip out to see him over the summer, but at least he manages to put the rumours to rest for a while.

Hockey's always tough to watch when you're not playing it; there are a lot of things that are objectively cool about the teams still in it, but Auston has no interest in any team without a maple leaf on their chests lifting the Cup. He catches part of the finals, thinks about last year, about Washington and Mitch kissing him dizzy in the shower after the final loss, of feeling like his season was over but his summer was a new start, a fresh sheet of ice just waiting for him and Mitch to carve circles into it with their skates.

He decides against watching the rest of the series.

The draft is the draft; he follows it on Twitter instead of turning on the television, because he honestly has better things to do. There's nothing shocking, nothing surprising about selecting so late in the round, so he does the obligatory back-patting and "welcome to the team" crap and then does his best to disappear. He wants to just... not be in the headlines for a couple of months.

And then July 1 rolls around, and John Tavares decides that the Leafs are a better shade of blue or whatever.

Auston's excited; or, well, some part of him is excited, the part that's still thinking about the last playoff loss, about the burnout and the stress and the workload, the part that wants someone older and wiser to lean on, sometimes; that part of him's thrilled. Mostly he does what he can on autopilot, saying the right words about teamwork and exciting opportunities for next year while doing his best to not think about it. He hears Dubas say with every ounce of confidence in him that he'll be able to make the money work, and he doesn't think about it. Willy's summer contract negotiations drag on, and he doesn't think about it. Rumours start to swirl about his own contract extension and he refuses to fucking think about it, because he doesn't want to leave Toronto and Toronto would never let him go, but he knows how the goddamn cap works. There are only so many ways to circumvent it, to hide out in all the loopholes, and sure, Dubas might be able to find the money to keep the so-called young core plus Tavares, but Auston won't let himself think about what it means for the rest of the team.

He keeps on not thinking about it through training camp, through the first month of the season, the second. It's not like he relaxes about it as time goes on, but he thinks about it less and less as the grind of the season really settles, and he's mostly breathing easy when the salary cap comes up in conversation by the time Christmas break rolls around.

Which, in hindsight, was really fucking stupid of him.

He's stumbling down the stairs of his parents' house in Arizona, hoping he's got enough time to grab one more cup of coffee before he has to call an Uber to the airport, when he hears his phone start beeping. It's an app notification, some kind of sports news, so he leaves it in his pocket; by the time he reaches the kitchen, the texts have started coming, too. His heart is kind of pounding as he pours coffee into a travel mug, but he can't check it, not yet, not when he knows damn well that it's a trade of some sort. There's no other reason for the sudden influx of notifications three days after Christmas. It's not him or he'd have heard from his agent, and no matter who else it is, he's going to need the coffee to deal with it.

"Aus," Alex says from behind him, and Auston jumps and spills coffee all over the counter. He turns, ready to whine about how she made him spill, but the look on her face is cautious, worried. "Did you, uh. Did you hear?"

Auston's phone goes off again in his pocket. He closes his eyes and shakes his head a little. "Who?"

She coughs a little. "Papi..."

"Who, Alex," he asks. He knows, he knows, but there's a sick part of his brain that's hopeful that he's wrong, that it was someone on the team who can stand to look him in the eye instead of the one person who can't, someone who's still friends with him, who he's not still crazy in love with.

"It's Mitch," Alex finally says, and Auston squeezes his eyes shut harder, hard enough that colours dance in spots across his vision. "They traded him here, Auston. Mitch and a prospect to the Coyotes for Ekman-Larsson and a pick."

"Fuck," he breathes out, quiet and hoarse. " _Fuck._ "

Alex makes a small noise in the back of her throat, and before Auston can react, she's across the kitchen, wrapping him up in a fierce hug. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "The, ah. The article I read said that he was reporting there for the next game, so you'll probably cross paths in the air."

Auston lets out a breath and sags a little into Alex, swaying with her in the kitchen. She hugs him tighter, murmuring nonsense Spanish to him that he doesn't remember except that it's from their childhoods. She doesn't let go until Auston stands straighter, takes back his own weight, and then she pats at his back and steps back. "Call him," she suggests.

Auston feels the weight of his phone in his pocket. He knows he's imagining that it's suddenly heavy enough to drag his pants down, but he feels it all the same. "Yeah, I will," he says, knowing it's a lie but not knowing what else to say. "I need to get an Uber. I have to catch my flight."

"Okay," Alex says, stepping back. She pulls her phone out and pats him on the arm before looking down. "Get your coffee and pull your shit to the porch. I'll call the Uber."

"Alex," Auston starts.

She gives him a look pulled straight from their mom's playbook. "Coffee, bags," she directs. "Chop chop."

He leans back in and gives her another quick hug before doing as he's told.

-0-

_June 18, 2035_

Fetch needs food and water; apparently he goes from napping in the yard to starving in the blink of an eye, so Auston follows Mitch and the dog back inside. He's trying to sort out what else he's here to say, but he's still not sure what's going to fall out when he opens his mouth next.

"Did you ask for the trade?" is what ends up happening, and yeah, he's wanted to know the answer to that for years, but he knows better than to assume he has the right to ask it. Still, though, it's out there now.

Mitch falters a little, bent over the dog dish with a cup of food. "No," he says slowly. "Not exactly."

Auston frowns a little. "What does that mean?"

Mitch sighs and finishes pouring Fetch's food. "I didn't ask to be traded, but I told Dubas that if he needed to trade someone to make the cap situation work after we got JT, then I was open to the idea," he says, straightening back up. "I mean, I was a kid and I had no say over whether I stayed or went anyway, but I didn't want the team struggling to keep me when..."

"When I was making it difficult for you to stay," Auston fills in.

"Believe it or not," Mitch says, rolling his eyes, "it wasn't all about you."

"Really," Auston says, and he means for it to be a question, but he can tell how doubtful it sounds.

Mitch hesitates a little. "There's no way to say this without sounding like an asshole," he says after a moment. "But I think my world stopped revolving around you way sooner than yours stopped revolving around me."

Auston sucks in a breath; it stings, and Mitch was right about sounding like an asshole, but he's also right about the sentiment. "So there were other reasons," he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

"There were," Mitch confirms. "Again with the sounding like an asshole, but they're not really your business, Auston. They weren't then, and they're not now, either."

It's true, but it's another sting, and Auston has to look away. "Yeah," he forces out. "Sorry."

Mitch huffs a laugh, and when Auston looks back, his face is twisted into an unhappy little grimace. "You want to know one of the worst parts of the whole fucking thing?" he asks. "It's that even after everything, all the bullshit, all the hurt? I never stopped giving a shit about you. I put a lot of work into it, but I never managed it."

"Uh," Auston says.

"Dylan asked me out at American Thanksgiving the year of the trade," Mitch says bluntly. "And I told him that I didn't want to try anything at that point, because I was still fucked up over you and I still had to see you every single day. And he said okay, he could be patient, he was willing to wait for me if I was willing to say that someday I'd be ready. And then I told Dubas that I was willing to be elsewhere, because maybe if I wasn't looking at you all the time I could actually move the fuck on, and as it turns out, the trade he pulled off put me right where I needed to be."

"Oh," Auston says quietly. "That was... that was good. For you."

Mitch smiles, finally, and gestures vaguely at the house around him, the colouring book still on the kitchen table, the obvious accents of the life he's built. "It turned out pretty well in the end, I think."

"Yeah," Auston says. He's not sure how else to respond to that, so he just turns a little, looking at the photos hanging on the wall. It's not much of a help, since it's Mitch and his kids, Mitch and Strome, Strome and a baby, but it's still better than facing Mitch right now. "I'm glad, y'know? I'm glad."

"Again with me being kind of an asshole, Auston," Mitch says, voice gentle, "but your opinions about what I did or didn't do with my life..."

"Yeah, no, I know," Auston says hurriedly. "It doesn't matter to you if I think you're the best or the worst. That was more... I think I needed to say it out loud. I'm happy for you, and I'm not lying to you or to myself about it, and that's... not new, but kind of worth noting, I think." He laughs a little self-consciously. "Or it is to me."

"That's good," Mitch says. He hesitates a little. "Okay, it's not like you owe me one because I've been honest with you, but I'm curious. Feel free to not answer me."

Auston shrugs a little. "Shoot."

"Were you okay?" Mitch asks, not looking away. "I mean, not with the breakup. That was shitty for both of us, I know, but like... in general. Were you okay?"

"No," Auston says, short and to the point. "I was... there was a lot going on, with the team and with you, and I don't think I really have to elaborate to you when I say that I handled a lot of shit really badly."

"You don't," Mitch agrees. "You got help?"

"I did," Auston confirms. "Not when I first needed it, or I think I would have at least ended it better between us. But after the trade, after you headed to Arizona... yeah."

Mitch nods slowly. "Us being together was too much, but me not being there was, what, worse somehow?" His face twists up. "That wasn't what I wanted to happen. I'm sorry I made it worse."

Auston laughs a little. "Not to throw your own words back at you, but it's not all about you," he says. "I pissed a few people off, worried a few more, and I got peer pressured into finding a therapist, more or less."

"Oh my god," Mitch says, laughing a little. "Let me guess: Mo."

"And Zach," Auston confirms. "It was a hell of a thing, too."

"I can only imagine," Mitch says wryly.

-0-

_Early April 2019_

"Hey, wait up," Mo says, and Auston turns in the parking garage. It's cold for this time of year; Auston had been stubborn this morning, leaving the house without gloves, and now he's regretting it. Mo jogs, though, so it's not so bad. "I'm getting lunch. Come with?"

"I'm not really..." Auston begins.

Mo cuts in. "Okay, wait, let me start over. I'm getting lunch, and you're coming with."

"Oh," Auston says. "Well, in that case, you're paying."

"Nope," Mo says, bumping gently into Auston. "Hyms is paying. We rock-paper-scissored for who had to get you there and who had to pay."

Auston raises his eyebrows. "Did you win or lose?"

"I sure did," Mo says, which confirms exactly nothing, but it doesn't really matter, Auston supposes. "I'm driving, c'mon."

"I'm not gonna ditch you," Auston says. Not that he doesn't want to, but he's the captain, and two of his As have something to talk to him about. He's pretty sure this isn't exactly team-related, but there's a chance that it is, so he'll show.

"Right," Mo says, smiling at him. "I'm still driving. Get in the truck, buddy."

Auston sighs but complies, and fifteen minutes later they're walking into a deli that they probably could've walked to faster, given how the parking situation worked out. Zach is already at a table in the back, and he waves them over.

"I ordered drinks, but you can pick your own food," he says as Auston sits. "They're gonna bring you a hot tea and a cup of ice, Matty, and you can decide how you want to drink it."

"Hot," Auston says. "Fuck winter. It's April."

Zach snorts. "It's colder in the rink than it is outside right now."

"He forgot gloves," Mo volunteers, and Auston glares a little. Tattletale.

"Keep a pair in your glove box," Zach advises. "Sometimes winter just keeps happening for a while."

Auston shrugs. His mind is racing with _Mitch kept a pair in his glove box for me,_ but he can keep his mouth shut. He doesn't have to say that out loud, like, at all.

"Food, then talking," Mo says. He's next to Auston; it's not like Auston thinks he's there purposely to keep Auston from bolting, but there's always that possibility. He's starting to get the idea that this is for sure not about hockey, so he does his best to brace himself as he looks blankly at the menu.

Zach and Mo keep up some aimless conversation after they order, and Auston's glad they don't try to make him participate; he truly does like his teammates, and he enjoys spending time with them, but he's not really in the mood to hear about Mo's latest girlfriend or what Zach is thinking about for his next book topic. He cares, he does, and he feels kind of selfish for not being able to care in a more active way right now, but he doesn't know where to even start looking for the energy it would take to figure out how to give a shit.

He's a bad friend, probably.

"So," Zach starts after the waiter has delivered their food. He shoots Mo a look, then turns back to face Auston. "You don't have to confirm or deny anything, okay? That's super important to put out there first. We really just hope you'll listen to what we have to say."

Auston feels something twist in his stomach. "Okay," he says, because the last thing he wants to do is give them more information, more ammunition to use against him in whatever this whole thing is. He'll just keep his head down and mouth shut, and hopefully this will be over soon.

"We're worried about you," Mo says, turning to look at him. "We know that you and Marns had a fight at the end of last season, and we figured that whatever it was, you'd work it out over the summer. And then you very much didn't, and we thought, okay, the season would help."

"And then it didn't," Zach picks up. "He wouldn't tell us what went down, and nobody asked you because he told us that you probably wanted to talk about it even less than he did, and he was... pretty convincing on that front."

Auston grabs his water and takes a sip. His hands are clammy, but he manages to keep the glass held firmly in his hand.

"And then he got traded," Mo says. "And it sucked, because Mitchy's our friend, but we thought that with him in Arizona, you'd at least be able to get over whatever it was."

"But now we're here," Zach finishes. "Because it's been months, Auston, and you're... you're not doing well, are you?"

Auston pulls in a shaky breath, and then another. "I'm fine," he grits out. "Marns getting traded was—but I'm fine. I'm dealing."

"You're not," Mo says bluntly. He doesn't lean in, and it's a small thing but Auston is grateful all the same. "You don't have to tell us anything. Whatever happened between you and Marns was totally between you guys, but it fucked you up, Matts."

"Bad breakups do that," Auston snaps, and then he freezes, feeling the blood drain from his face. The words echo around in his head, bouncing and rebounding and growing larger and larger, and he knows his breath is drawing in shorter and shorter as he looks from Zach to Mo and back again. The realisation dawns almost immediately on Zach's face, and Mo takes a moment but gets there, too, and then they look at each other for what feels like an eternity before Mo reaches out and puts his hand on Auston's wrist.

"Okay, come on," he says quietly. "Come on, we're gonna get out of here, okay? Deep breaths, buddy, c'mon."

"Don't," Auston says, high and panicky, and he pulls his hand back. "Don't, don't, I can't—"

"I'll drive you back to your place," Mo cuts in gently. "Home, yeah? You can be home, where you're comfortable. Nothing bad's gonna happen there."

Auston nods, then shakes his head; home is the apartment where he drove the nail into the coffin of his relationship with Mitch, where he'd heard _I love you_ wielded as a weapon, where he'd fucked up past the point of fixing things and kept going and going. He avoids the hallway near his living room on his best days, but right now, he's pretty sure that the walk from his door to his bedroom would make him crumple. "Willy," he manages, gripping Mo's hand hard as Mo pulls him out of the boot. "Willy's. Please."

"Okay," Mo says, shooting a glance at Zach. "Let's go to the car. Zach will take care of things here, and then he'll meet us over at Willy's."

All Auston can do is nod and try to keep his breathing even as he follows Mo out of the deli.

-0-

_June 18, 2035_

"I kind of thought you and Willy would," Mitch says. He trails off and shrugs a little. "Y'know."

"Hook up?" Auston supplies, rolling his eyes a little.

Mitch barks out a laugh. "No, definitely not," he says. "Fight, I guess. I know he was in your corner or whatever, but from the way he talked about things before the trade, I was really sure he was going to blow up at you after I left."

Auston shrugs. "He might have wanted to," he admits. "I never asked him, but I think he was ready to after the season was over."

"He didn't," Mitch says. "Because... you went to therapy?"

"Because I flipped the fuck out when Mo and Zach confronted me about it," Auston corrects. "And I asked them to bring me to Willy's, because he was the only one who _knew_ anything, and I think it freaked him the fuck out to see how bad things had gotten." He huffs a laugh. "It was... I don't really know if I can explain how depressed I was. And it wasn't because you left," he adds. "Or, like. That was maybe the tipping point, but it was all building for a long time before that."

"Yeah," Mitch says quietly. "I didn't know it then, but sometimes I wonder how I had no idea. That was some heavy shit you were carrying around back then, Auston."

"I know that now," Auston says. "And I sort of knew it then, too, I think. Part of me did, anyway."

Mitch blows out a breath. "You could've said something to me, you know? I would have wanted to help."

"I think," Auston says slowly. It's a realisation he's sort of been avoiding for a while, but it's settling over him now, heavy and still if not actually comforting. "I don't think telling you at that point would have been good. Not the time or the place, y'know?"

Fetch sighs, deep and heavy, into the silence that follows Auston's statement. _Yeah,_ Auston thinks, looking at the dog as he stretches across the floor. _I can relate, buddy._

"So it was actually good for you, the way things unfolded," Mitch says after a moment. "That's... really a hell of a thing, Auston."

"Trust me, I know," Auston says quietly. "I was there for the whole shitty thing. But that spring was really my breaking point, y'know? And I know I freaked the guys out, which definitely wasn't in my plans, but it worked out. They helped me through it."

"And that's why you missed the first round of the playoffs," Mitch says quietly. "They said it was an upper body thing."

Auston snorts and taps his forehead. "I mean, technically it was. Your brain is up there."

Mitch smiles a little sadly. "I get that it all worked out for you, but I'm sorry I couldn't actually help you with any of it. I'm sorry I made it worse."

"What's that saying, the one about how you have to hit rock bottom before you can really start making your way back up?" Auston asks. "That was me, I think."

"That's a shitty saying," Mitch says, rolling his eyes. "It working for you aside, I mean. Imagine how not-shitty things could have been for you if someone had realised you needed help earlier on."

"There's also a saying about leading a horse to water but not making it drink," Auston says. "You can't help someone who doesn't think they need help. I needed it, sure, but if you had said that to me in my rookie year..."

Mitch sighs. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Auston says. "I mean, I'm really here to say sorry to you. Don't steal my thunder, man."

Mitch laughs, then looks a little surprised at himself. "Don't be greedy," he says, like he's trying out this new teasing thing. "We can both be sorry."

"No, nope, not today," Auston replies, and this time Mitch's laugh crinkles his whole face. He's got a lot more lines there than Auston had imagined, but they somehow make him look younger, happier. It's a good look for him, Auston decides. And maybe Auston had fucked him over when they were kids, but Mitch... Mitch had done really well for himself after that. Maybe it had fucked them both up, but maybe Mitch hadn't let himself _stay_ fucked up.

It is, Auston thinks, an entirely Mitch way of doing things.

"Question," Auston says, tilting his head a little. "What made you decide to come out?"

"Honestly, I wondered if the announcement would have been what made you finally break the vow of silence, when I did it," Mitc says quietly, half a smile on his face. "When you didn't say anything, I figured we just... wouldn't ever talk again."

"I'm sorry," Auston says, stomach twisting. "I wasn't unhappy for you, but it didn't feel like my place."

"And it wasn't," Mitch says, shrugging a little. "I had no right to expect you to say anything. I just did anyway." He laughs a little. "I told Dylan that I wanted to come out someday, maybe while we were still playing, and he was really supportive when I brought it up. It was such a huge contrast to... to what I was expecting, so we just did it."

Auston doesn't miss the slight pause where Mitch decided against saying _to what you always said,_ but he appreciates Mitch not saying it out loud anyway. "How long had you guys been together? Thanksgiving of 2018, you said?"

Mitch shakes his head. "That's when he asked me out. We didn't start anything until the start of the next season."

"So you'd only been together for, like, six months," Auston says, counting quickly in his head. "That's fast."

"It was right for us," Mitch says, jutting his chin out. "And I'm gonna go ahead and say it worked just fine."

"Sorry, that's not what I meant," Auston says, raising his hands. "I really am happy for you."

Mitch blows out a breath. "It was rough," he admits. "But you guys—it was never bad playing against Toronto, not like it was with some other teams."

"Boston," Auston guesses.

"Actually, no," Mitch says, grinning. "As it turns out, Marchand was ready to drop gloves with his own guys if they were shitty about it on the ice. He was one of the first guys I didn't really know to reach out and offer his support, and told me that if anyone made shit for me while we were playing Boston, to let him know so he could take care of it."

Auston snorts. "Hell of a guy," he says.

Mitch opens his mouth, but before he says anything, his phone starts ringing. It's some obnoxiously awful children's song, but Mitch doesn't even seem to notice how bad it is as he reaches for his phone. "Hey, hon," he says warmly as he answers it. "Yeah, he's still here, and yes, the house is still standing." He listens for a moment, smiling faintly at nothing that Auston can hear. "No, that's fine. Bring them home. Do you want me to order something?"

Auston shifts on his feet a little. If Strome is on his way back, then it might be time for Auston to make himself scarce.

Mitch moves the phone away from his mouth. "Dylan's getting pizza on the way home," he reports. "Do you want to stay?"

Auston opens his mouth, shuts it, and shrugs. "I don't want to make things weird."

"Way too late," Mitch says. "Sausage and pepperoni okay? If we get anything that looks like a vegetable, Bryce will pick it off and fed it to Fetch, and it gives him gas."

Auston laughs. "God, you're a _dad,_ " he says. "Sure. That sounds good."

Mitch smiles and turns back to the phone, and Auston watches the soft look on his face as he talks to his husband. It's kind of a lot to take in, Auston thinks, but somehow it's not in a bad way.

A moment later, Mitch hangs up his phone and shakes his head a little. "Dylan says twenty minutes, but if he manages to get two pizzas in less than forty-five, it'll be some sort of minor miracle."

"I'm not calling him Saint Dylan, no matter how fast he can get a pizza here," Auston says flatly, and Mitch laughs, eyes crinkling.

"You should; it would fuck with him so hard," he says, smiling brightly. "It would be worth it, trust me."

Auston shakes his head, but he's smiling, too. "Anything we need to do before they get back?"

It spurs Mitch into motion, and Auston follows him around and does what he's told as Mitch mixes up formula, clears Bryce's books off the table, and hands Auston a stack of plates. It's an odd moment of domesticity, and Auston's a little surprised and a lot relieved to find that it doesn't hurt at all to set Mitch's table knowing full well that it's a table he shares with someone else. He's known for a long time—years, even—that he really and truly is over Mitch, but it's still comforting to find out that there's no lasting bit of longing in him for the man in front of him.

"Earth to Matts," Mitch says, which is when Auston realises that he's been staring at the folded napkin in his hands for far longer than is probably acceptable. "Everything okay over there, man?"

Auston smiles widely, putting the napkin down beside a plate. "Yeah," he says, and he's glad, so glad, to find that he truly, honestly means it. "Everything's just fine."

**Author's Note:**

> -[CLICK HERE](https://66.media.tumblr.com/7d09a456a4e7a9cd251e21f83432dc09/tumblr_ph1gswznLD1qixv6do1_1280.jpg) to see that art in its full size. it's worth it. oh, wow, is it worth it.
> 
> -this was, at one point, described as "sweet, fluffy domestic breakup fic." i hope i have lived up to that.
> 
> -auston comes out, answers all the questions, endures all the backlash and bullshit that he was expecting and a little more on top of that, and then he disappears for about six months. he emerges again after the 2036 cup finals, heading up a new initiative to help queer athletes in all levels of all sports. he and his family end up being just fine in the long run. it takes a lot of healing on everyone's part, but they get there.
> 
> -mitch and dylan's daughters both play pro hockey; they're on team canada together, and their whole family cries an actual bucket of tears when they win olympic gold. bryce is an artist. neither of his parents understands his work _at all,_ but they're at every exhibition and they make all their friends go, too. (freddie andersen buys a few of bryce's pieces to hang in his house. freddie _understands_ them. dylan is terribly impressed.)
> 
> -follow me on twitter! but send me a message first, as i don't accept random follower requests. :)


End file.
